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[FTMWDK] Chapter 66: Gambling the Fate of a Nation
🕑 Added 2023-10-18 06:06:02 +0000 UTC*Silence—*
As if someone had pressed the pause button on time, the noisy hall suddenly fell silent.
The musician set down the harp, the dancers stopped their sensual moves, and everyone turned their attention to the sudden rise of the duke on the upper floor, their faces filled with confusion.
The guards in the hall exchanged silent glances and stealthily reached for their swords concealed within their garments.
Breezes rustled through the radiant golden hair of Artoria. She lowered her head slightly, her hands resting discreetly under the table as if holding something.
"My apologies, I may have lost my composure just now..." Benedict took a deep breath. "Let the banquet continue."
The graceful music resumed, and everyone's faces displayed relieved smiles as they continued to enjoy this rare banquet.
"As the head of the family, a duke of a duchy, it's essential to have a strong heart." Arkhan lightly swirled the wine in his glass, and his black eyes held a hint of amusement. "Duke, you might need to refine your emotion a bit."
"Yes, Your Majesty." Benedict nodded slightly towards Arkhan, taking his seat again, his gaze deeply complex.
Arkhan tilted his head, finishing his drink, and then passed it to the maid nearby. The maid trembled as she reached for the glass, her hand quivering like a leaf in the wind.
"Forget it, I'll pour it myself." Arkhan sighed in resignation, taking the bottle from the maid and filling his own cup.
Benedict's gaze flickered slightly, and his thoughts surged like a tide.
He finally understood why this new king had chosen to come to Lucanmont instead of going to Camelot.
It was because Lucanmont was the closest city to Ganna! The king intended to step on Ganna's corpse and crown himself as the king!
Ever since Uther's disastrous campaign against the Vile King Vortigern, Camelot had remained within its borders and had not initiated a war for fifteen years. While the people seemed fine with it, the shadow of their defeat loomed over them.
Especially after that great war, Camelot's standing among the alliance of southern nations plummeted. Even though everyone maintained a facade of harmony, that was about all there was to it.
Over the past fifteen years, Camelot had captured nearly ten times as many spies as before. Although their official reports painted them as agents of the Vortigern, who could be oblivious to the true identities of these individuals?
If placed in the past, would these individuals have had the audacity to do such a thing?
The failure of the war, the decline in status, and the disdain of their allies—how could the once-mighty Camelot accept this?
But who knew what kind of fire burned in their hearts?
They were not willing!
They were angry!
This fire had burned in their hearts for fifteen long years, never extinguished!
All it needed was a spark, and it would erupt like molten lava, consuming all of Camelot!
And this was precisely what the new king intended to do!
Camelot had gone without a significant victory for too long. If Arkhan could truly overthrow Ganna, his prestige in Camelot would soar to unprecedented heights!
The suppressed flames of fifteen years, when unleashed, were beyond even the duke's imagination, let alone the magnificence peak of King Uther's era.
And there was more to come.
No matter the era, war always remains the swiftest means to gain profits.
Conquering Ganna meant new territories, new wealth, and new titles. With these chips in hand, the new king could effortlessly bring the majority of nobles to his side.
Nobles were such creatures, forever focused on self-interest. As long as there were benefits, they wouldn't care who sat on the throne.
And when added to the support of the people, his rightful claim to the throne as the one who pulled the sword from the stone, who would dare stand in the new king's way?
A mere stream of spittle from the masses might suffice to drown anyone who opposed.
With his sensitivity as both a military officer and noble, Benedict quickly grasped the new king's intentions.
However, for this plan to go smoothly, two issues needed addressing.
"Your Majesty, Ganna is our ally. If we move against them without cause, it might incur the wrath of other nations."
As soon as he finished speaking, the duke saw the young man in front of him looking at him with skepticism.
"Don't you know what happened in Tintagel, Duke?"
'Tintagel? What did Tintagel have to do with this?' Benedict was utterly confused.
Suddenly, an attendant behind the duke stepped forward, coughed lightly, and started to explain:
"Your Grace, there were rumors in the streets that a prince from Ganna entered Tintagel a month before the king selection ceremony, intent on seizing a pregnant woman's possession. He had his men severely injure her, and afterward, this prince and his men were slaughtered by the Black Knight named Arkhan, who afterward declared war on Ganna."
"By the way, that would be me—my real name is Arkhan. Though I'm not sure when I earned the moniker of 'Black Knight'." Arkhan added with a wry smile.
*BANG!*
Benedict slammed his fist on the table, causing some of the wine in the cups to splash out. His face turned angry as he said, "Why wasn't I informed of such an important matter earlier?"
The attendant knelt down in fear and stuttered. "I-I thought the rumors were t-too absurd! T-That's why—"
"No need for further explanation." The duke said coldly. "Take your pay for this month and leave my place. If you dare show your face in my presence again, I'll have you killed."
The attendant fled in terror.
Benedict took a deep breath and stood up from his seat, giving a slight bow to Arkhan. "My apologies, Your Majesty, for making you witness this disgraceful spectacle."
"It's alright..." Arkhan replied with a smile, though a thoughtful expression flickered in his eyes.
Benedict sat back down, his mind gradually calming.
This way, they had a legitimate excuse to declare war on Ganna. Even if other nations were dissatisfied, they had no reason to intervene.
Although Britain's wars were often brutal invasions driven by the desire for gain, it was better to go in with a recognized cause than without.
Suddenly, the duke felt a chill down his spine. Could it be that the new king had foreseen or planned this situation all along?
But was that possible?
Could a sixteen-year-old possess such intricate thoughts and execute such bold plans, gambling the fate of a nation for his own path to the throne?
Was someone aiding him?
Perhaps it was Merlin?
Benedict contemplated in silence, but as he glanced over, he saw the new king watching him with a cryptic smile.
Those deep-black eyes felt like a sharp blade piercing his heart, revealing all his hidden thoughts.
Benedict was almost terrified and stumbled, nearly falling to the ground.
At that moment, all his doubts evaporated. This new king was not ordinary!
